


There is a Goblin in the Cabin

by LadyTroll



Series: Gloryhammer Reverse!AU [8]
Category: Gloryhammer (Band), Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Dark Fantasy, Dialogue Heavy, Gen, Goblin holds a grudge and in his place you would too, Healers, Roleswap, Some Cursing, barbarians vs. cats. who shall win?, reversed Gloryhammer, the regular GH disclaimer applies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:20:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24938962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyTroll/pseuds/LadyTroll
Summary: Hoots has connections and secrets, and Goblin gets his revenge, so everybody wins!
Series: Gloryhammer Reverse!AU [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1540978
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	There is a Goblin in the Cabin

**Author's Note:**

> [Past mischief](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21613576) has come back to bite Hoots in his wolf-pelt-clad ass. Good thing there's an Aunt Malvina.  
> Seriously, everybody should have an Aunt Malvina (name optional), just in case.
> 
> Why yes, that title is, indeed, a pun on that one line.

With the awkward part of the winter having set in when there was not much to do outside and when lowlife poor peasants were happy and content with spending their days inside, preferring their small, dusty rooms to the great outdoors, the forest was eerily void of all noise that otherwise filled it for the rest of the year. After the rainfall, the tree branches hung heavy with water clinging to them, just about waiting for a stronger breeze of wind to send a shower of raindrops pouring to the ground or the head of somebody unlucky enough to find themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time. Between them, single droplets of water fell to the ground and what scarce vegetation there still was, accompanied by the single sound of a _‘’pak’’_. The sun insisted on not showing itself, far too cosy under the thick cloud blanket to even bother with anything else today, even though its light, so scarce in winter, would have been greatly appreciated by man and beast alike.

The Hootsman grunted, the sound a mixture of annoyed and exasperated, as he pulled his leg free. What had initially appeared to him an ordinary frozen water puddle on the forest floor had, upon closer inspection in the shape of his foot, turned out to be a natural trap for unwitting travellers, just lying in wait to strike when you least expected it, and the barbarian cursed as he shook mud off his boot, wincing, before he walked on with a slight limp.

Proletius and the rest had dropped him off at the village early in the morning and left on that very important quest of theirs that the Grand Master of Crail refused to confide in even in a trusted ally, and the trusted ally – he also known as the Barbarian King of Unst – was currently stuck in the middle of a forest, cursing himself and every circumstance that had led him here. To top it all, he had spent, at the very least, ten minutes trying to wrestle his horse out of the warm stables of the village inn, before calling it a day, cussing the dumb animal out (with such colourful language and spicy words that it made the local gaggle of peasants gathered for their daily mug of ale blush) and setting out on his own. 

That mare had always had a mind of her own as to what was good for her, and those things did not normally align with her rider’s wishes, and the Hootsman often cursed himself and his homesickness for not leaving the accursed animal on Unst.

Even if he had, he knew that he would awaken one fine day, only to find her destroying the vines under his windows in Dundee.

In retrospect – and even the barbarian had to admit it, now that he was approximately half way there – he would have most likely taken much longer had he ridden into the forest, for the paths that were, in normal conditions, suitable for a horse and a rider were now mud-ridden (more so than the rest of this abode of misery was) and would have either seen them stuck for a long time, or the poor animal breaking her neck and every other bone in her body in addition.

If Proletius ever found that unicorn of his, the Hootsman would be more than glad to borrow it when he needed to get to this place in such disgusting weather again.

At least on Unst, winters were… well, normal, regular winters. If things froze, they usually remained frozen until spring. On the mainland, wherever you went, winters were unpredictable; one day, you got snow and ice, the next already saw it all thaw, and mud caked the ground.

The barbarian wondered just what he would be willing to give, to find himself back home now and not have to deal with anything that this mess of a country had decided to throw at him.

At the very least, he would not stink like a wet dog.

The house in the woods did not even look like a house, at first. A random traveller with no idea what to look for would have passed right by it, thinking it a mere moss-covered boulder among other moss-covered boulders, and the only signs that there was somebody living here were the smoke climbing from the chimney, and the stone bench in front of the house that was the only thing that had been recently cleaned – and even then most likely by the rainfall rather than anyone coming along with a broom to sweep the dirt away. A door covered in specks of moss was right next to the bench, as uninviting as a door could be, as if advising any visitor to turn around and leave, for they were not welcome here neither today, nor any other time. Neither the tall pine growing in one corner of the house, nor the old willow leaning over a small pond made it more welcoming, and just the fact that the building stood so deep in the forest spoke quite well of the owner’s aversion towards any kind of company.

Stoically disregarding all the warning signs, the Hootsman trudged up to the door.

He really, really did not want to be here right now. In fact, he would much rather be back on Unst. Or at least at the Citadel of Dundee, at a warm fire, surrounded by pretty maids ready and willing to—

 _That is definitely not a thought to entertain around here,_ the barbarian shook himself up, before he reached out and knocked at the door.

No answer.

Having muttered something under his nose that was aimed at the forest, the village, the horse, the forest again, and the peasants who, with their stupid chatter and thirst for news from the outside world, had kept him up the whole morning, the Hootsman knocked again, louder this time. Next, he was prepared to bang his fist against the door and then, if that also did not work, cut it down with his axe.

\- _What?!_

He did not, thankfully, have to resort to such extreme measures, for the door opened, and an angry woman with chestnut hair gazed up at the barbarian who towered a good head taller than herself.

She took in the visitor, squinting against the sun that had just decided to make a guest appearance in the otherwise bleak, grey world, before the healer’s face lit up.

\- Hoots! – was all she managed to exclaim, before she was swept off her feet and locked in an embrace that would put a very large and friendly bear to shame.

\- Aunt Malvina!

***

To be completely honest with himself, the Hootsman had no idea about how exactly he was related to Aunt Malvina, for she was one of those women whom everybody in the family respectfully refers to as an aunt while being unaware of their exact relation – or whether one such relation exists in the first place. A feisty woman who knew how to stand up for herself, she might have as well fallen from the sky and decided to be one of his relatives, and everybody, the Hootsman himself included, would have accepted this as the one and only truth.

In any case, even if they did not happen to be related even by the tiniest drop of blood after all, it was still useful to have an Aunt Malvina, for the barbarian swore time and again – and quite often so in the healer’s humble abode – he would rather bleed to death than let any of the butchers calling themselves doctor anywhere near him.

And thus, it had occurred that, right now, he was sitting, in a little less than what would be considered appropriate attire in polite society, on what was, at least by the local standards, a comfortable bed and waiting for Aunt Malvina to finish rummaging through the cupboard's many shelves and drawers, as she gathered the various salves that she intended to use.

\- I thought the king had the best doctors? – the healer asked, just as always, while she was busy pulling linen bandages from a box from under her own bed. – Why come all the way out here?

\- The doctors? – the Hootsman grunted, trying to make himself comfortable without bothering the faulty leg too much, for it had seen enough action during the walk earlier, and there was no need to put even more strain onto it. – More like butchers, if you ask me. They know nothing but talking, that bunch of pompous pricks. _We’re_ … - he imitated, in a whiny, high-pitched voice, one of the aforementioned doctors, - how’d they say, again… uh… _monitoring ze situeishen!_ Means you can bleed out, and they’ll be standing around talking about how fascinated they are by it.

\- Oh, do tell me about that. Here, - Aunt Malvina threw him a bottle. – Get all that gunk off, and then we’ll do business.

\- You do know, - the barbarian frowned, turning the bottle in his hands, before he opened it and took a sniff, only to wheeze loudly. – Whoa! This stuff could kill a healthy horse! You do know that regular water would do, right?

\- How’m I supposed to know what you’ve been doing with it? No way for that! Who did this, anyway?

\- Eh, - the Hootsman waved the question off, as he proceeded to do as ordered and clean the cut in his leg that had, until now, been bandaged to his best skill, - some cunt in sparkly armour. Called duel. Never seen anyone call a duel over a bit of spoiled milk before. I had already forgotten what’s that about, thought the mate had gone crazy there for a bit. Ouch!

\- If it hurts… - the healer began, in a purposely annoying, patronizing tone, as she pulled up a chair and set a wooden tray with her tools of trade on the bed.

\- _Then it works._ I know that, Aunt Malvina.

\- Good boy. Now, - the healer set about her business, as her patient sat there with a bored expression on his face and the occasional yawn like he was about to fall asleep, as though this was something as common to him as breakfast to most people, - I trust that you did the only right thing and shoved that bastard’s sword up his— I mean, where the sun don’t shine?

\- Oh, sure! Don’t think he ever saw anyone get up and go on, like that. Wish you could’ve seen the look on his face. Like he’d stepped in dogshit. Won’t be too keen on duelling for a while, that cunt.

\- So old, and you never learned not to cuss any chance you have.

\- Ah, you know how you won’t get very far being all polite, on Unst.

\- Do you talk like that when you’re in Dundee, too?

\- Pah! – the Hootsman made an unarticulated sound expressing both his annoyance about the question and utter indifference towards the topic. – If they don’t like something, they should bloody well up and say so! The princess been scrunching her nose ever since we met, and Angus thinks I’m some sort of bodyguard for him! Proletius would be the only normal one there, if the baldie didn’t have his head so far up his ass you’d think he lives there.

\- So, stuck up bastards, all of them, yes?

\- You’ve got that one right. Ouch!

\- Now, now, - the healer slapped his leg, and the barbarian hissed between his teeth, - it’s not that horrible. Stop pretending!

\- Usually when I’m told to take my pants off, the ensuing procedures are far more pleasant!

\- Oi! That’s the kind of information I didn’t ask for! Leg up! – Aunt Malvina commanded, and her patient complied, hastily so, knowing that the ordeal was coming to an end. - _Those_ treatments are outside my area of skill, just so you know. That’s more for the guys over the sea.

\- Now, that’s not really fair, Aunt Malvina. To me, I mean. They’re just as stuck up as the Dundonians.

\- Ah, don’t talk to me about the Dundonians! All of these city folks are awfully stuck up. Take the wizards, for example. Met some, once or twice in my life – and most of them were horrible. Walking around, thinking they know everything because they can heal a cut in seconds, then ask for a small fortune from the unfortunate fellows! And what good did that bring them, no? Where are they all? Did they not bite the dust, just like my poor man and child?

\- Oh, Aunt Malvina, that’s not a good topic to talk about, right now.

\- Isn’t it? – the healer threw the unused bandages on the bed and crossed her arms on chest. – I’d like to meet this prince! And his father, too! I’d like to throw into their faces everything I think of them! You take him to me, one day, and I just might!

\- Then I better shouldn’t, - the Hootsman attempted to stand and was pleased to find that, whatever salves had been used, one of them did an amazing job in numbing the feeling in his leg, and that the route back to the village was going to be far more pleasant than coming out here had been. – Nah, they don’t trust… how’d they call it, again… it was something very… oh! “Backwoods’ herb witches who probably steal and eat babies.”

\- That’s what they say, in the city? – the healer’s face softened. – Oi, those are some unpleasant folks, then. Besides, you know very well that I don’t steal _or_ eat babies. That’s more your field of operation.

\- Why, _Aunt Malvina_ , I have never in my life felt more insulted! – her patient pouted. – Maybe somebody from the clan has done that, but not me, certainly!

Something moved behind his back, and the barbarian turned, scouting the bed for the perpetrator.

\- Huh? Oh, - his sight fell on the large dark grey cat that had stretched out on the bed and appeared content with everything at the moment, - when did you get a cat? Cute little bugger you are, no?

Goblin, of course, could not answer this accusation, but what he could do, however, was hiss and sink his claws and teeth into the Hootsman’s hand when the latter reached out and patted the cat’s side.

\- A _feisty_ little bugger you are! – the barbarian had some difficulties retrieving his hand, the cat clearly intent on doing as much damage as he could.

\- Will you leave him alone! – Aunt Malvina reprimanded him, as she rose to fetch another clay pot from her vast supplies. – Here, rub this one on. You scared him!

\- I was sitting right there! – Hoots protested, as he proceeded to rub the salve onto his hand that he finally had back at his own disposal and that now sported red scratches and bite marks that the disgruntled feline had gotten on him before the barbarian managed to shake him off.

\- He doesn’t care about that. He’s blind, and you’re a stranger.

\- Blind? – the Hootsman turned, to look at the cat, only to find that it had, in the meantime, tumbled off the bed and taken refuge under one of the chairs at the fireplace that it deemed safe enough, for now. – Oh. My bad. Sorry there, mate!

Goblin answered this apology with another hiss, fur standing on his neck, the cat prepared to fight anyone, the healer included, who would attempt to remove him from his hiding spot.

\- Okay, okay, Oh! horrifying chair guardian, – the laughter seemed to shake the healer’s humble abode from the very base to the roof, - I shall not contest you! Where did you get him, anyway? – this question was, of course, addressed to the healer. – Didn’t see any cat here, the last time I visited?

\- Oh, that, - the healer was busy putting away the bandages and the array of pots and boxes she had used, and it took her a while to answer. – From the forest. Found him, one day, while I was out.

\- How’d a blind cat end up in a forest? – the barbarian mused. – It’s not like they just fall from the sky? Or did you, you hissy ball of fury?

\- Do ask him. I’m sure he can tell you quite a story.

\- Nah. I’d like to keep my hands the way they are. I still need them. The whole of the country is on its toes right now, looking for that bastard that just run off.

\- How very impolite.

\- You said it! – the Hootsman leant against the wall, now that its living furry defender was gone, and stretched his legs out, clearly content with himself and everything else. – Imagine the gall! Wizards were supposed to be polite, but this one just up and runs away! All of the Knights of Crail are running themselves dead looking for that cunt. So are half of the king’s men. There’s more running about than when there’s a half-price day at the local whorehouse!

\- _Hoots!_

\- Sorry, but that’s them facts! It’s a luck that it’s winter. I don’t know what will happen in summer. Angus seems keen on… no, - the barbarian interrupted himself, before he had blabbed something important, - that’s not a conversation meant for other people’s ears. I’m not the one who should pass down rumours.

\- While I do love me a good rumour every now and then, - Aunt Malvina straightened her back with a silent _“crack”_ , hands pressed to her sides, as she grunted, - I’d prefer not to know this one. Might only get angrier, if I did.

\- True, that.

The healer went about her business, humming to herself, as she fixed up a quick meal on the table, leaving her guest to his own devices for a while. Goblin was still under the chair, hissing and spluttering whenever he heard somebody make a step into his general direction, and both people in the hut respected the cat’s wish to be left alone.

\- You going back soon, I suppose? – the healer inquired, busy with a water jug that just did not want to fit between two bowls in the middle of the table.

\- Is my company really that horrible, Aunt Malvina? – the Hootsman laughed at his own joke, much more so than the healer did. – If honest, I intend to hang around the village for a while. I’ve paid more than what’s reasonable, for a room at the inn, so I intend to get my money’s worth. And I doubt my horse will be willing to move out, while the weather’s shit. That mare has a mind of her own. If I hadn’t had her since she was a little foal, I could swear some fae turned a princess into a horse. ‘sides, they can do just fine without me in Dundee.

\- So, you’ll have the time for a quick meal, then! – the healer asked him over to the table with a quick wave of her hand, and the barbarian accepted the invitation, eagerly so, as his stomach proceeded to remind him people did tend to sometimes eat. 

– And now tell me, - the hand clutching his wrist felt like a steel claw, - what is going on?

\- Aunt Mal—

\- Don’t “aunt” me, young man! Tell me, what’s going on? I’ve heard a lot of horrid things in the past months. What’s your role, in all of it? What’s your business with Fife? Am I hearing correctly? They call you a butcher. That you slaughter people like they were cattle! Is it true, then? That’s what you are?

\- I don’t want to lie to you, Aunt Malvina, - the Hootsman did not wish to be brought out of peace, - so, I won’t say anything.

\- Gods preserve, Hoots! – the healer released him, only to collapse on a chair and hide her face in her apron. – What are you doing? _What, in all that’s left holy, are you doing?!_

\- Keeping people safe, - the barbarian reached for the water jug, and his hand trembled ever so slightly, as he did. – That’s all there is, Aunt Malvina. I’m keeping people safe.

\- By killing them?

\- Keeping people safe from other people, - he shrugged. – Can’t have monsters running around freely.

Goblin hissed.

**Author's Note:**

> For a year, my mother was looking for where the name of my grand-aunt came from, and people insisted that she was named after a character from a book that was written and published years _after_ she was born.  
> Turns out, that name comes from Scotland.  
> You learn something new every day.


End file.
